Tattooed Madonnas and Feral Children
Lately I have had several folk insist that I must go to New York, although nobody can explain quite why- just that I would love the culture. Daresay it has never held much appeal, although wih The Guggengheim holding exhibitions like Family Pictures, reviewed by Leslie Camhi in her Voice article, Tattooed Madonnas and Feral Children. It contains works by 16 artists, including my personal faves Sally Mann and Patty Chang, and Catherine Opie's piece:
'Self Portrait/Nursing (2004). It shows the hefty, tattooed photographer (faintly scarred with the word "pervert" carved in cursive script across her chest) cradling a blond baby boy who feeds at her breast, each gazing upon the other with rapt attention.'
and some who I've never heard of, but must investigate
'Janine Antoni's photographic triptych of her parents, made-up and cross-dressed to resemble each other, throws off all of our perceptions; her "Dad-as-Mom" appears more maternal than Mom herself, and vice versa.'
For some reason I cannot bring myself to pump at the moment. My breasts ache, are full to bursting, but I can't seem to take the 20minutes out to pump. Its strangley unappealling, although I think I still want to be lactating. And really, I need to start going harder at the moment, up the drugs and the pumping and see how much milk I can make. Got the show in April and a photo-shoot lined up too, so now is no time to dry up!
Keep imagining myself without tits. Not helped any by attending the Bears Underwear party last night (dancing for three hours or so, coat check for over 5 hours), and picturing myself as one of the smaller, musclier only half-hairy ones, with a shaved head and leather harness and camos. Ooooh, I love my furry family! And they love me... much bear-hugging and kissing and bumping and grinding to be had, with random sweet boys coming up and saying things like 'I don't know why, but when I saw you on the dancefloor I just had to say THANKYOU!' and other spontaneous ego-boosting and bonding incidents. Has made me all toey though, and in the mood to throw on my army pants and boots and a singlet and head for The Newtown to prowl around some boy-meat.
'Self Portrait/Nursing (2004). It shows the hefty, tattooed photographer (faintly scarred with the word "pervert" carved in cursive script across her chest) cradling a blond baby boy who feeds at her breast, each gazing upon the other with rapt attention.'
and some who I've never heard of, but must investigate
'Janine Antoni's photographic triptych of her parents, made-up and cross-dressed to resemble each other, throws off all of our perceptions; her "Dad-as-Mom" appears more maternal than Mom herself, and vice versa.'
For some reason I cannot bring myself to pump at the moment. My breasts ache, are full to bursting, but I can't seem to take the 20minutes out to pump. Its strangley unappealling, although I think I still want to be lactating. And really, I need to start going harder at the moment, up the drugs and the pumping and see how much milk I can make. Got the show in April and a photo-shoot lined up too, so now is no time to dry up!
Keep imagining myself without tits. Not helped any by attending the Bears Underwear party last night (dancing for three hours or so, coat check for over 5 hours), and picturing myself as one of the smaller, musclier only half-hairy ones, with a shaved head and leather harness and camos. Ooooh, I love my furry family! And they love me... much bear-hugging and kissing and bumping and grinding to be had, with random sweet boys coming up and saying things like 'I don't know why, but when I saw you on the dancefloor I just had to say THANKYOU!' and other spontaneous ego-boosting and bonding incidents. Has made me all toey though, and in the mood to throw on my army pants and boots and a singlet and head for The Newtown to prowl around some boy-meat.
posted by Zoo at 7:35 pm
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